


blue and yellow makes green

by gerardsjuarez



Category: The Used
Genre: Bad British Accents, Bruises, Early Days, Fist Fights, Kissing, M/M, Nicknames, Piano, Slow Dancing, unnecessary metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:28:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27031198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gerardsjuarez/pseuds/gerardsjuarez
Summary: the band in london or the aftermath of recording greener with the scenery
Relationships: Quinn Allman/Bert McCracken
Kudos: 14





	blue and yellow makes green

**Author's Note:**

> hella inspired by my one and only public bookmark. i got obsessed with the concept of the aftermath of greener with the scenery. i'm still working on the sewage of youth but i may or may not be on a quert kick. apologies and hope you enjoy

Quinn kept eyeing Bert and he knew that Bert knew he was eyeing him but he couldn’t help it. The bruises on his back from recording in John’s kitchen were bad. Like he knew they would be there, duh, he’d been one of the guys throwing shit at Bert with the force of a kid whose parents just divorced, but he didn’t know that they would be that bad.

“Will you quit it, I’m fine.” Bert huffed, flipping a page in a magazine.

“You sure?” Quinn asked because he just had to.

Bert was lying on Quinn’s bed horizontally, his legs bent at the knee and kicking the air like a teenage girl on the phone in every other slice of life 80's movie. Quinn was pretty sure those girls didn’t read porn mags or were covered in bruises and scars and intense amounts of body hair.

Bert rolled over to look at him, “Yes.”

“Then why won’t you sleep on your back?” 

After a second, he turned back to his stolen issue of playgirl, “Hurts.”

“Hmm.” He said but didn’t say 'I told you so'. 

Instead, he just scooted closer and lightly traced some of the more gnarly looking ones. Bert tensed only for a moment before relaxing under his touch. He brushed Bert’s hair away from his back and giggled when he pushed his arms outward dramatically so he could lie flat on the bed, encouraging Quinn.

“I feel bad.” He admitted, “This one wasn’t from recording shit.”

He pressed his fingertip to a faded bruise near the curve of his ass. Quinn and Bert had gotten into another fight and it’d turned physical. Quinn had thrown a remote at him as he tried to walk away from an argument.

“Well, don’t be.” Bert’s voice was muffled.

He rolled his eyes, “We fight a lot.”

“It’s because of tension.” He replied.

“You keep saying that in interviews, you don’t have to lie to me.” He tried his best to hide the snarky tone but it didn’t work.

“I’m not lying, dude.” He yawned, “We have sexual tension.”

“You and Jeph have sexual tension.” Quinn pointed out.

“Okay.” He moved his head so his words were more clear. Quinn continued tracing the bruises, “I have sexual tension with most guys I meet. But that’s just because I’m always horny. Plus Jeph has a pretty mouth.”

Quinn paused and thought about it, “I guess he does.”

“See?” He chuckled, “Anyway, yeah Jeph is sexy but we have like... a different sexual tension.”

Quinn traced his finger down Bert’s spine, “Indulge me.”

“Bluntly? I want you to fuck my brains out.” He shrugged, “We fight, and the adrenaline gets pumping and you get this hellfire in your eyes and I just think ‘god if he asked, I would let him fuck me against this dumpster’.”

Well. He did say he would be blunt.

He blinked, “Wait, you thought that  _ tonight _ ?” 

They’d gotten into a fight earlier that night over something Quinn couldn’t remember and he’d shoved him up against the dumpster with his forearm pressed against the collar of his shirt. Quinn had thought, even in the moment, that Bert had enjoyed being pressed bodily against a dumpster too much. 

Bert had leaned forward a bit and Quinn had backed away, confused, “What?”

“I just thought - well I-“ He’d cut himself off, “Fuck you, Allman.”

They’d gone back to fighting after that and Bert had won the next round. It wasn’t until then that he realized Bert had tried to kiss him.

“Well, y’know.” He arched his back, making Quinn stall his movements, “That feels good.”

“Yeah?” He said and raked his nails down his back.

Bert moaned just as Jeph and Branden walked into the room, still dripping from the hotel pool. They didn’t notice, thankfully enough, and did just what Quinn had earlier.

“Dude, your back,” Jeph said and leaned over to look at the bruises they’d given him.

Branden took a more aggressive route and said, “I like your cut, G.” before slapping him on the back, only making him moan again.

“We’re recording piano shit tomorrow.” Jeph said, ignoring Bert and Branden, “Or we’re writing on the piano? I don’t know.”

“Do you want us to stay with you and help with that or would you guys be cool if we worked on other parts of a song?” Branden asked, still near Bert.

Quinn nudged his friend and Bert waved a hand, “Yeah, we’ll be fine. Didn’t you have a drum part you were working on for... fuck, I forgot the title.”

“Yeah, I did. And we don’t have a title yet.” He chuckled and snagged a towel off of the floor, putting it over his head.

“Gross,” Quinn commented. Bert moved after he spoke, turning himself on the bed to lay parallel to Quinn. He hooked an arm over him and shoved a leg between Quinn’s, latching on, “You’re gross, too.”

“Whatever.” He yawned again, “Jeph, turn the lights off, I’m fucking beat.”

“What, did Quinn win this time?” He called from the bathroom.

That made Quinn laugh, “Shut up!” 

Jeph did turn the lights off, though. Bert was still for only a second before detaching himself from Quinn, only to kick the blankets down so he could get under them. He followed, knowing that Bert was in the cuddling mood. Bert was blindly searching for something, only stopping when he found Quinn’s face. He left his palm on his cheek, turning over to face him. Quinn did the same, curious. He could faintly see Bert’s face in the dark now that his eyes had adjusted. 

He pulled Quinn forward by the chin and gave him a quick peck on the lips, “You excited to get up at 6 am to work on piano shit all day?”

“Of course,” Quinn said and surprisingly, it wasn’t a lie.

He didn’t have to see to know that Bert was smiling, “Good.”

Bert ended up tucking himself under Quinn’s chin with his arm around him and in his hair. Bert hardly ever played with Quinn’s hair, it was usually the other way around, but that night he was lulled to sleep by the repetitive twisting and petting and pulling of Bert’s fingers.

...

He wasn’t entirely sure how they ended up dancing together but they were. They’d been writing something on the piano, wrote down the chords, and then all of a sudden Bert was playing some classical tune from the computer in the room, spinning around and falling into Quinn’s arms. He kept calling Quinn stupid little pet names in a fucking awful British accent while they danced.

“Wonderful, my darling.” He drawled, “The way you lead, my love, is most simply divine.”

Quinn was too sleep-deprived to really tell him to stop. Plus, Bert was grinning, actually grinning, for the first time in a while, “Marvelous, sweetheart, I am most grateful.”

“Magnificent, spin, lover dearest.” Bert giggled and Quinn tried not to focus on the joking ‘lover’ he threw in.

But maybe he wanted to fuck with him a bit, “My dear.”

“My kind partner.” He smiled.

Quinn smiled back, their dance more of a choreographed sway now, “Mon chéri.”

Bert lifted an eyebrow at the change of language but was quick to retaliate with, “My moon and stars.”

Okay, yeah, that one definitely made Quinn blush. He couldn’t hide it but Bert was pretty good at being oblivious so he just said, “My sweet prince.” 

“Prince.” Bert repeated, giving in to defeat, “Do you really think I’m princely?”

He noted Bert’s outfit of an Atticus t-shirt, brown hoodie, and green cargo shorts. He wasn’t dressed the part by any means but he definitely had the bitchiness that came from being royalty. Quinn didn’t say as much because Bert was a prince to him in other ways, too. He ruled his goddamn thoughts for a start. But he was just staring at Bert’s wide blue eyes, hand in his with the other one on his waist as they continued to sway together. He’d showered the night before so his hair was clean and wavy at the ends. 

“Yeah.” He decided on saying, voice quiet.

“Yeah?” Bert asked, “You must know some weird princes then.”

“You’re the only one I know,” Quinn said, half-joking.

He giggled again and let his hair fall into his face, “Shut up.”

“As you wish,” he tried on his best Westley impression but that just made Bert roll his eyes.

“Don’t quote movies with hot guys in them at me.” He said.

Quinn looked at him for a second before smirking.

“No.” He warned, “Don’t do it.”

He leaned in close to Bert’s ear, “As you wish.” 

“I’d kick your ass if I wasn’t kinda turned on right now.” Bert said.

Quinn’s head fell to Bert’s shoulder when he laughed, “Can’t we just have a moment?”

“We are having a moment, see?” He nudged Quinn with his shoulder, making him lift his head. Bert leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together, eyes closed, “Tell me more about how you think I’m a prince.”

“You just are.” He said as a cop out at first but then they were swaying gently to the next song that came on and Bert’s thumb brushed against the back of his hand, “All the old princes had long hair. In romance novels anyway. Long, dark hair and enchanting blue eyes.”

He spoke in a mocking tone but when he opened one eye, Bert was smiling.

Quinn continued, “You’re clumsy and crazy as all hell but sometimes you just have this… god, I hate to say ‘grace’ but you have a certain grace about some stuff you do.”

“Like what?” He asked, quiet.

“Like when you play the piano.” He said immediately, “Like the fuck, dude, you’ve been in hardcore bands and you play  _ piano _ .”

Bert giggled, “That’s what you get for growing up in Utah.”

“I can’t play piano.” He countered.

He rubbed his head against Quinn’s, “Keep going.”

“You fucking-”

“Gently, this time.”

“Gently,” Quinn repeated, “You… you’re really smart. I think sometimes maybe you don’t think you are but then a conversation turns serious and you’ve got a whole debate lined up in seconds. Makes it hard to win a fight.”

Bert moved so their noses touched and Quinn, nervous, kept talking.

“And - and you’re soft. I don’t mean like emotionally, even though you kind of are. I mean like… to the touch.” He removed the hand that was on Bert’s hip and bravely reached up to brush his fingers against his cheek, “Sometimes, I think it’s funny that the same guy who bruised a rib of mine made me fall asleep by playing with my hair the night before.”

Quinn could feel Bert’s words on his skin when he spoke, “If I’m a prince like you say I am, what does that make you?”

“A fool.” He said and Bert laughed at him.

“Why are you a fool, Quinny?” His voice was sweet enough to cause cavities.

“Well,” he took in a breath, “royalty aren’t supposed to dance with commoners.”

He laughed again, “I dance with whomever I please.”

“Then tell me, my prince, am I a fool for thinking it could’ve been more than just a dance?” 

The question was stupid, all of this really was stupid but he had to get it out somehow, even if it meant confessing to Bert through dancing metaphors. 

“No,” he said and Quinn felt his heart drop for a second until Bert picked it back up, “you’re a fool for thinking that you aren’t the royalty that made me the prince.”

Quinn, once again, stepped out on a limb, “What kind of royalty?”

After a moment, Bert said, “Prince Consort.”

And for a brief, blinding moment, he stopped breathing, “Are you going to kiss me?”

“I think so, yeah.” Bert closed the inch between them and kissed him.

They’d kissed before so many times and Quinn knew Bert’s mouth better than his own fucking dentist but it felt like coming home. Everything about Bert was familiar to him. From that weirdly shaped freckle on his inner thigh to the stud on his nose to the scar on his ankle. 

Bert stood on the balls of his feet to get a better angle and Quinn tried not to smile, leaning down and kissing him back, closed-mouth turned open. 

“I wanna make you feel as special as you make me.” Bert said, leaning away. 

Something in Quinn short circuited, making him say syllables for a second until finding the words, “How?”

Or, y’know. One word worked, too.

“We can stay here. For the weekend while Jeph and Branden go home.” He offered.

“Yeah.” Quinn agreed, “Yeah, let’s stay.”


End file.
